


The Strangest Twist Upon Your Lips

by littlemel



Category: Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemel/pseuds/littlemel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank always thought "it just happened" was a total cop-out, just a bullshit excuse for bad decisions based on total lack of judgment.  Set during Projekt Revolution, and not an AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strangest Twist Upon Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://harborshore.livejournal.com/profile)[**harborshore**](http://harborshore.livejournal.com/) and [](http://nokomis305.livejournal.com/profile)[**nokomis305**](http://nokomis305.livejournal.com/) , just because they're awesome and make me happy, and with thanks to [](http://tilney.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tilney.livejournal.com/)**tilney** for the beta. Title from "The Same Deep Water As You" by The Cure. Originally posted June 26, 2009.

Frank goes to the bus looking for Gerard. Frank's itchy under his skin again, like he's been this whole tour; something in the air or the water or whatever, but he's practically turned into his aunt's crazy old cat, perpetually in heat and rubbing against whatever stands still long enough. He probably wouldn't be all that surprised if his dick started to chafe soon.

He checks the bunks and the back lounge, but the bus is dark, empty. Frustrated, he fumbles at his phone, muttering around the unlit cigarette in his mouth.

He's thumbing out a _where r u?_ to Gerard, wondering if he's maybe with Lindsey and if maybe Frank should leave him (them) alone, when the bus door shrushes open and Lindsey bounds up the steps. Guess not, then. Her face falls when she sees Frank.

"Oh." She tries to pull it together, but her smile's a little slapdash. "I was just-"

"Yeah, no, it's cool." Frank tucks his phone back in his pocket and his cigarette behind his ear, jerks an elbow towards the door. "I was just heading out. Gerard's not here, if you were looking for him."

"Yeah, I thought he might be in here."

"Me too."

It comes out with just enough bite to make them both pause, breath held. Things have been like this for a couple of days now; not exactly tense, but sniffing each other out, to see where the other's been. Curiosity undercut with jealousy, a little distrust around the edges. And something else, faintly electric, that makes Frank's fingertips tingle; something they've both been circling, even as they tried to dodge it. He clenches his hands into fists at his sides.

"So, yeah." Frank rolls his shoulders. "I'm heading out. You can stick around if you want. You know how to lock the door, right?"

Lindsey nods, but doesn't move. She's blocking the aisle, her hair damp and loose, her make-up half sweated off. Frank goes to squeeze past her, and then his hands are knocking into Lindsey's; grabbing at each other's shirts, Lindsey's teeth catching his lip.

He always thought "it just happened" was a total cop-out, just a bullshit excuse for bad decisions based on total lack of judgment. But he doesn't know who's pushing and who's pulling, or how his hand ends up inside Lindsey's shirt, the lacy cup of her bra scratching his palm.

"Fuck," Lindsey hisses, arching into him. "This is so wrong."

"We should stop," Frank agrees, and they should, they really fucking should, but they're not. He's not thinking, not about Gerard, or Jamia, or anything but getting his hand up Lindsey's skirt. This probably makes him the biggest douche on the planet, and he _feels_ like the biggest douche on the planet, somewhere under and beneath the desperate fumbling for more skin, but Lindsey's undoing his belt, and shit, he's only human. Which is as lame an excuse as "it just happened," really.

He presses Lindsey back against the little fold-out table, where he sat across from Gerard just a few hours ago, bullshitting sleepily over their coffees. Talking about Lindsey, even, and Frank rolled his eyes fondly at the goofy, faraway look on Gerard's face. A sharp pang of guilt spikes deep in Frank's gut, and he breaks the kiss with a shake of his head.

"We can't-" Lindsey's nipples are hard under his thumbs, her breasts perfect, heavy handfuls. He closes his eyes, panting against her mouth. "We should-"

"Stop talking."

Lindsey sticks her hand down the front of Frank's shorts, kneading him through his boxers, and Frank's retort comes out a wordless groan. She perches on the edge of the table and he nudges her legs apart with his hips, his dick getting harder with every pass of her hand. His breathing's all wrong, like everything else about this.

He runs his hand up the back of her thigh, from the damp crook of her knee to the curve of her ass, and hikes her closer. He works his fingers inside her panties, where Lindsey's skin is hotter; licks at her mouth and strokes lower, where she's wet. She grabs at Frank's hair.

"Shit," she gasps. "Wait-"

She pushes lightly at his chest and Frank backs off, a wave of embarrassment and shame and horror beginning to warm his cheeks, until he realizes- _oh_. Lindsey's inching her panties down her legs, leaves them hooked around one ankle when they get caught on her boot, and tugs Frank back between her parted legs by the front of his shirt. This time when he touches her it's nothing but soft and slick and hot, outside and in. She tilts her hips into his hand, her heel tucked at the small of his back.

"I don't," Frank starts, and has to stop, can't breathe, can't concentrate because Lindsey's shoving his boxers down and curling her fist around his dick. Now he has to finish what he was going to say, but it takes him a few breaths, a few strokes of Lindsey's hand, to unstick his voice. "I don't have condoms."

"I do, they're- fuck." She falters when Frank thumbs at her clit, crooking his fingers deeper. "My bag," she says, voice high and thin. "Behind you."

He grunts in frustration and pulls away to grab her bag off the bench seat behind him. Lindsey plucks a string of foil packets from inside and tears one open with her teeth, goes for Frank's mouth again while she slips the condom on him, steadier and quicker than Frank expected.

Then they're both moving at once, his hands and her hands and then no hands, just revving hips and low moans. Lindsey twists her hand in Frank's hair, and he thinks she's going to say something, holds his breath and waits, waits. But there's only her mouth on his skin, the sting of her teeth, the wet sounds of him fucking her. One of them knocks her bag off the table, scattering pens and loose change across the floor, click-clack-ching.

Lindsey tenses, and their eyes meet for the first time since she got on the bus. Frank has no idea who looks away first, but Lindsey's fingers tighten in his hair again, pulling him back into a messy kiss, still moving with him; but slower, he thinks, or maybe faster. He can't tell, because everything seems to be going at somewhere between regular speed and double time, rushed and blurry; he can't tell if they've been in here two minutes or two hours.

They're too far gone either way, he's too close, and he braces a hand on the table and shoves in, in, hips slapping into hers. Squeezes his eyes shut as he comes, shuddering into her.

"Don't stop, I'm- fuck, just-" She's touching his hip, his ass, pushing his hand between her legs, urging and urgent. She curls in against him, around herself. Her fists in his shirt and her teeth in her lip, trying to stay quiet. She nods at the artless swipe of his thumb, quivers and clings and, "oh, oh fuck." Frank kisses her through it, and there's a bit of relief in the sound she makes: soft and hard at the same time; low, but sweet.

She stills, finally, and Frank pulls out, but not away. For a second neither of them moves, frozen with Frank's hand on Lindsey's thigh, her hand in his hair, their foreheads touching. Catching their breath and letting the gravity of what just happened try to catch up with them a little.

When Frank opens his eyes, Lindsey's already watching him. She looks- he doesn't even know how she looks. Wrecked, maybe. Her lipstick's long gone but her mouth is still red, shiny-slick. She touches it with the tips of her fingers, blinking fast.

Frank turns away to pull off the condom, stuffs it in an empty cigarette pack he finds on the counter. Marlboro Lights 100s. Gerard's. Of fucking course, right? The knot in Frank's belly goes tighter, colder. In his peripheral vision, Lindsey's squirming back into her panties.

"That can't ever happen again," she says, too quietly.

Frank zips up and turns around, but Lindsey keeps her eyes fixed on her hands as she straightens her skirt, smoothing it almost primly over her legs. He reaches out to touch her arm, but aborts the movement halfway there, unsure. He plucks at the front of his t-shirt instead, fitful and numbish. "I know."

Lindsey flashes him a tiny, crooked smile. She shrugs. "I love him, you know?"

"I know," Frank says. "Me too."

Something like sadness, or pity, passes over Lindsey's face between blinks, and then there's nothing left to say.

Frank nods and shuffles past her, out into the sticky afternoon. He chucks the cigarette pack with the condom into a trash can and walks towards the sun, the crowds, in search of a beer and a beat to lose himself in.


End file.
